The First Concert
by Carolina Nadeau
Summary: The band is days away from giving its first real concert - an event that may make or break Harold Hill's future in River City. But even after all of the hard work that Harold has put in, circumstances beyond his control threaten to ruin everything...
1. Unexpected Obstacles

In October of 1912, as the weather turned cool and the trees burst into resplendent color, River City's newfound enthusiasm for music was stirring up once again, reaching levels of excitement as high as when Professor Harold Hill had first waltzed into town that July. After months of anticipation, the boys' band that had occupied the time and energy of so many of River City's sons in the past month would finally be putting on its first official performance.

Nobody was more excited than the band members themselves, who had thrown themselves enthusiastically into a more-rigorous rehearsal schedule, eager to show off their newfound talents. Harold had been pleasantly surprised by the work ethic of his pupils – though the boys could be capricious and rowdy, they were quite willing to redirect their boundless energy into productivity when the situation required. Perhaps the boys' band had saved River City from a fair bit of trouble after all!

It was unusual for any of the boys to miss rehearsal, and in the final week leading up to the concert, Harold had further stressed the importance of their attendance. While the situation looking very good at the moment, the music professor still harbored a little anxiety that things might somehow fall to pieces in the eleventh hour if he let his guard down.

On the Thursday before the Saturday concert, Harold found himself running late, up to his elbows in paperwork and sheet music. Finally, ten minutes past the time he was due to start rehearsal, he threw the entire mess down on his desk and walked briskly to the auditorium, unwilling to waste any more time on matters that could just as well wait until later. Besides, he was certain that the boys were growing restless already, and the last thing that he needed was for them to get into a foul mood before the rehearsal even began.

But when the door to the auditorium swung open, Harold stopped short in his tracks, and the boisterous greeting he had been prepared to call out never made it past his lips. The seats were nearly empty – only a few boys sat here and there, staring up at him with rather apologetic expressions.

"Where did everyone go? I'm sure I'm not that late, am I?" Harold did his best to hide his shock and remain cheerful, but it was difficult. As he walked down to where the boys were sitting, he managed to count nine band members – nine, out of the twenty-seven that the band had now grown to!

"My brother's not feeling well," little Timothy Brown piped up. "He was so sick he couldn't even go to school today."

Winthrop Paroo leaned forward and nodded. "Yeah, lots of kids are getting sick right now. My teacher says it's something going around."

"So... you mean to say that all of those boys are too sick to be here?" Harold repeated foolishly, unable to form a more insightful response.

"Well, not all of them," replied Freddy MacCall, tapping his finger thoughtfully on his tuba. "I heard Linus broke his wrist yesterday."

Sitting back wearily in his chair, Harold had to fight off the overwhelming urge to bury his head in his hands. "We can't conduct a rehearsal in this state, I suppose. But I don't know what we're going to do to make up for lost time – as it was, we were going to just barely have _Battle Hymn of the Republic_ ready for Saturday."

"We could try to play through our songs like this," said Winthrop. "I guess it's better than nothing, right?"

Unwilling to give up on what precious rehearsal time he could get, Harold had to agree with Winthrop's suggestion. However, the productivity of the rehearsal went about as well as the professor had expected – though the band was much more in tune thanks to months of practice and Harold's painstaking efforts in music theory, the absence of entire sections of instruments and vital harmonies made their music sound just about as poor as it had when they had played for the first time in July. After a half an hour of discouraging and dissonant playing, Harold finally let the band members go, entreating them to practice as much as they could on their own – and to keep themselves healthy and their bones unbroken.

Left alone in the Emporium, Harold reluctantly considered returning to the paperwork in his office, but he felt too dispirited to commit himself to work at this time. If the boys weren't well enough to perform on Saturday... the music professor felt his blood run cold at the possibilities. If, after three months of supposedly legitimate work, all he could produce to show for it was a faltering, pathetic concert – or, worse, no concert at all – he could easily find his tenuous livelihood in River City completely ruined. The parents might have continued to trust him, but Mayor Shinn, who had seen him as a swindler long before Charlie Cowell ever blustered into town and who persisted in this conviction even after absolving Harold of all charges, would waste no time in declaring that the past months had been nothing more than an extension of the con and that the River City-ziens would be wise if they never gave the "spellbinding cymbal salesman" another red cent. Unable to do business in River City, Harold would have no option but to go elsewhere – and what was there for him anywhere else in the world?

From the very start, Harold had recognized this concert for the test it was, but Marian reassured him that as long as he put in the time, effort and work, he wouldn't have to worry. It had hardly even occurred to him that circumstances outside of his control could ruin everything, but now he was facing the prospect of losing his home, his business, and, worst of all, his Marian – and all thanks to the goddamn common cold!

Glancing at the clock, he decided that he would go visit the one person with whom he knew he could always share his troubles. He had a strong suspicion that his visit might not be entirely welcome – this was Marian's late night at the library, when she had no lessons to teach and could devote extra time to her duties there before heading home. Still, Harold could think of no other person that might have a solution to his dilemma, and no other person that he needed to talk to more, so he grabbed his hat, locked the doors, and began the short stroll down the block to Madison Public Library.

xxx

_Snap!_

Marian Paroo winced at the stinging pain of a rubber band breaking against her hand, punishing her for daring to stretch it too thin around a thick stack of index cards.

Stretched too thin, that's what she was, Marian considered as she discarded the now-useless scrap of rubber. Between piano lessons, library business, and helping Harold with his last minute preparations for the concert, Marian had barely had a free moment in the last week. The rather extensive new shipment of books that she had received, which might have filled her with excitement at any other time, now seemed to serve only as a monumental inconvenience.

It was to this overextension of herself that Marian credited the way she felt right now. Her head felt somehow heavy and foggy, sleep seemed to hang gloomily upon her the whole day through, and, most unpleasantly of all, there was a persistent, throbbing pain in her temples. She had considered simply going home several times since the library had closed to the public, but her rational side knew that she would only create a bigger problem for herself tomorrow if she didn't get these new books properly filed tonight.

Marian couldn't decide if she was relieved or annoyed when Harold strolled through the double doors at the front of the library far sooner than she had expected him – but as ever, she couldn't contain the little rush of excitement that always came from seeing him, although she was feeling far from romantic.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, genuinely confused as to why he would be at the library during rehearsal time.

Harold sat down on a bench near her desk and sighed in exasperation. "The whole band has managed to catch the same cold, it seems, and we didn't even have enough boys to rehearse tonight. Two days left and over half of them are bedridden." His expression grew more somber – he almost looked stricken. "What if we can't even have this concert after all? I won't just be disappointing some enthusiastic parents – I'll look like a charlatan, all over again. I hope I'm not bothering you, but I need your advice badly."

"No, you're not bothering me," Marian reassured him – though already she could feel her metaphorical rubber band stretching further and further. "I agree that the concert absolutely must happen at this point... but what can we do, Harold? I suppose we can only wait and hope that they feel better."

"I know, it's just –" Harold frowned and folded his arms. "I was so sure that we could do something, there has to be a way..."

Gazing resentfully at the stack of books beside her, Marian felt her patience eroding. What could he have possibly expected her to do? "I don't think there is," she said tersely. "And I don't have the time to waste discussing it, either."

"I thought you said that I wasn't bothering you." Harold raised his eyebrows at her, clearly put off by her chilly tone.

The librarian just barely contained herself from flinging a barbed response at him. But the only thing that could make her life more stressful at this moment would be being in a fight with Harold, and she could feel that she was coming dangerously close to starting one.

"I'm sorry," she responded, fighting to keep her tone even. "But can we please discuss this tomorrow? I have so much work to do now, and I can't just drop it all. I'll come and see you first thing in the morning – I promise." She gazed at him with a pleading expression, hoping that he would be understanding enough not to push her further.

Thankfully, the librarian's words did not seem to have offended Harold – in fact, he seemed rather apologetic. "I didn't mean to sound selfish – I knew I was interrupting you. Is it anything I can help you with?" Harold asked as he rose to peer at the volumes Marian was inspecting.

"No," Marian sighed and leaned her head on her hand. "I'm afraid that this responsibility lies entirely with me. And I'm certain I have a couple more hours of work ahead of me before I'll be finished, so it wouldn't be right to expect you to walk me home. I'm sure if you just go and relax for a while, you'll think of something that can solve the problem with the concert."

"I'll try. I can't bear to think what might happen if I don't," Harold answered. Leaning down, he gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. "But please, don't worry too much on my account. You don't seem too well, darling. Maybe you should save some of this work for tomorrow."

It was, of course, what Marian had been longing to do for hours, but she had already made her mind up not to yield to that temptation, and Harold's concern was not about to sway her from her duties.

"Really, I'm fine –" The librarian's stubborn assertion was undercut when her body was suddenly wracked by a rather undignified sneeze. Sniffling, she primly snapped the book in front of her shut and pushed it away. "It really does get so dusty in here. Perhaps I should have Zaneeta work on cleaning the shelves tomorrow." When she gazed up at Harold again, Marian saw that his expression was still skeptical, but she pulled another book from the stack as if she hadn't seen a thing.

When at last, Marian had convinced Harold that she'd never get the rest that he was so certain that she needed if he didn't leave her to her work, he left her alone in the silence of the library. Now, however, it was even harder for her to concentrate, as her mind was preoccupied with a whole new set of worries. Harold was counting on her to help him, as he always did, but this time, there was no solution that she could give him. The more her mind lingered on Harold's crisis, the slower she worked; and the later it got, the more groggy and fatigued Marian grew.

Two hours later, when she arrived home at last, the librarian didn't even bother to eat the dinner that she had missed. If she was hungry, she was too stressed and tired to think about it, and the task of eating – not to mention talking with her mother – seemed to exhausting to bear. Instead, Marian simply drank a glass of water and went straight to her room, just barely managing to get into her nightgown before collapsing into bed. In the moments before falling asleep, her mind drifted back to the ill-fated rubber band, stretched to the point of breaking, and Marian hoped desperately that she would not snap as well.


	2. The Breaking Point

The weather had been very cool in the past week, so it rather surprised Marian to wake up feeling so hot. Irritated, she pushed the covers off her body, but still could find no relief from the soaring temperature. She considered getting up to open the window, but her head pounded with such intensity that every movement brought her extraordinary pain.

Even lying perfectly still could not assuage the aching of her throat, however, which felt raw and swollen all the way up to her ears. As she assessed the various afflictions of her body, Marian finally recognized that the heat she was feeling came from within. The illness that had debilitated Harold's band had most probably found its way to her – and she couldn't say that she blamed those children for staying in bed all day...

_Harold! The band! _All at once the reminder of her obligations came crashing down upon her, and Marian knew that she couldn't spare the time it would take to convalesce. So, even though the exertion brought her nearly to tears, Marian forced herself through her morning toilette and stumbled shakily down the stairs.

"Morning, dear," Mrs. Paroo called from the kitchen. "You were in late last night, weren't you? Is everything all right?"

"Fine, Mama," Marian tried to call back, wincing with the effort to speak. Mrs. Paroo poked her head out of the kitchen upon hearing her daughter's rasping voice, her brow knit tightly with concern.

"You don't sound fine, Marian. If you're sick, you should be resting."

Marian shook her head – very carefully – and managed a small smile. "Really, I'm not – _oh_!" For taking a step had caused her to fall woozily into the wall, just barely catching herself in time. In a second, her mother was beside her, pulling her upright and placing a hand on her forehead.

"Why, darling, you're burning up!" Mrs. Paroo exclaimed in alarm. "You're in no condition to work today."

"But I have to," Marian insisted. "There's that new shipment of books –"

Already, Mrs. Paroo was leading her daughter back up the stairs. "Books will wait for you."

"But – if nothing else – Harold needs my help, I promised him –"

"Professor Hill wouldn't want you hurting yourself any more than I do, I'm sure of it. If he needs to see you badly enough, he can come by here."

Quickly realizing that her protestations would get her nowhere, Marian gave in, allowing her mother to tend to her. Although she felt vaguely embarrassed at being treated like a child, she was immensely grateful for the chance to rest her head and concentrate on feeling better. She thought resentfully of the extra hours that she had put in at the library the night before, in an effort not to fall behind – her darn Iowa stubbornness might have been the reason why she was now losing an entire day of work!

However, Marian had to admit that her mother had been sensible – the books would not know that she had failed them today. The only thing keeping her from feeling truly comfortable with staying home was the thought of Harold waiting for her, not knowing that she wouldn't be coming, maybe even becoming angry. There were just over twenty-four hours remaining before the concert, and the last Marian had heard of it, the prospects seemed grim indeed. Of course, there was nothing that she could do for him if the boys were still sick, but if Harold felt that talking to her would make him feel better, how could she deny him that?

Left with no other recourse, Marian could do nothing but pray. Over and over again, she repeated the same plaintive petitions in her mind, that everything would be all right, that the concert would happen and Harold wouldn't lose the trust of the townspeople – until her feverish mind finally succumbed to a deep and dreamless sleep.

xxx

When her consciousness returned in the late afternoon, Marian was pleasantly surprised to find that her skin felt pleasantly cool, and the pain in her head had subsided to a dull, bruised feeling – although her throat had not improved significantly. Rubbing her eyes, Marian considered that it might help to go get a drink. She sat up in bed and blinked slowly as her vision adjusted to the dim light – but what she saw before her convinced her that she must have been dreaming.

Somehow, Harold was standing in her doorway, and whether or not it was merely a dream, Marian wasn't taking any chances. Diving beneath her covers once again, she clutched the comforter frantically to her bosom in mortification.

"What – how – you _can't _be here!" she cried, her voice cracking a little. "Do you know – what if my mother saw you?"

Seemingly prepared for her reaction, Harold smiled and winked at her. "Now, Marian, do you really think that I'd be able to sneak past your mother, even if I was inclined to do so? As a matter of fact, she's the one who sent me up here."

For the first time, Marian's eyes alighted on the cup of tea that Harold held in his hands. Taking a few steps into the room, he set the cup down on the doily on her night table, and Marian picked it up gratefully almost immediately after, relieved to have something to ease her sore throat.

Stepping back a little, Harold was clearly doing his best to maintain a respectable distance from her – as if anything could possibly be considered respectable when he was already standing in her bedroom. "I wouldn't have dreamed to request to see you in your room, but your mother knew that you and I had a rather important matter to discuss today –"

"So the tea made a good pretense, I suppose," Marian finished. "And I suppose she considered that in my current state, there was no need to worry about anything... untoward... occurring." The librarian cast her eyes down at her hands in embarrassment as she spoke – such words seemed to carry even more weight in their current situation, and she vaguely wondered if her fever could return from blushing alone. "Still, please, could you not be, well, _in _here?" she pleaded.

It was a matter of two short strides for Harold to relocate himself on the other side of the threshold, grinning impishly at her. "Better?"

"Good enough," Marian replied, exasperated. As much as she wanted to put a stop to their improper situation, her need to know what he had to tell her was rapidly becoming far more urgent. "As you're here anyway, you might as well tell me what's happening with the band! I've been worried sick since last night..."

"It's good news for both of us," Harold replied. When he saw her hopeful but confused expression, he hastily continued, "It appears that this unfortunate affliction seems to be at its worst for about a day, so most of the boys were back at rehearsal today – and there should be no problem with you attending the concert tomorrow."

"That's a relief," said Marian, brightening a little. "I did suspect that the worst was over after I woke up with my fever broken." Taking a sip of the tea at last, she was pleased to find that despite the pain of swallowing, the hot liquid quickly had a pleasant soothing effect upon her throat. "I suspect that there are a good deal of sore throats among the band members, though?"

"That does seem to be the lingering symptom," the professor admitted. "I'm feeling grateful right now that I'm not leading a choir!"

Marian frowned slightly as a rather unpleasant technicality wormed its way into her mind. "You haven't caught it yet," she murmured. "And neither have several of the other boys, my brother included. I'm happy that you came to see me, but aren't you taking quite the risk by being near me? I don't want to be the reason why you, or my brother, or anybody else, falls ill tomorrow."

In response, Harold shook his head adamantly. "There was never any way that I _wasn't _going to come see you, or at least try. When I heard that you weren't in at the library, I was distraught all day long. In fact, thinking about you was enough to take my mind off worrying about how many boys would show up at rehearsal!"

Feeling stunned and a little flattered, Marian raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Surely, you knew it was nothing serious? After all, everybody gets a little sick now and then."

"I know I was being irrational, but I just didn't like to think that you were in any pain," he intoned softly. "I've vowed to myself to make sure that you're never unhappy, but there are some things that are beyond my control to help you with." Marian wanted to respond, but before she could find the words, Harold continued on. "I felt a little guilty, too – that maybe, if you'd been getting more rest, you wouldn't have been sick. I've put a lot of pressure on you to help me with the band, especially as the concert drew nearer, and I don't think it's fair. You're already responsible for so much, and I don't want you to be responsible for me, too."

"I never minded, not really," she insisted. "It was getting a little difficult lately, yes, but I want to see you succeed – you know that the band is just as important to me as it is to you."

Harold nodded slowly and leaned against the door frame in thought. "I just hope that you don't think that I can't – that I won't –" Seeming to think better of what he was about to say, he shook his head a little. "I hope that what you'll see tomorrow will be encouraging to you."

Not certain precisely what he meant but touched by his concern, Marian simply smiled at him in affection. "I know you'll be wonderful, all of you."

After a few silent moments had passed, Harold sighed and stepped back. "I suppose I'd better leave you to your rest, now. I really do apologize for invading your privacy like this."

"And so you should!" Marian laughed, rolling her eyes. "I think you'd do well not to repeat this sort of behavior again."

"Then you'd do well not to go catching any more colds, Madam Librarian," he teased, wagging a finger at her in mock admonishment.

Giggling, Marian waved her hand as if to shoo him away. "I should be entirely healed in a day or two; _you_, on the other hand, will always remain a scoundrel."

"Don't you go wearing out that pretty voice of yours from scolding me! Your mother sent you that tea for a reason," Harold called back as he descended down the stairs.

Leaning back into her pillow, eyes still dancing with mirth, Marian sipped her tea and realized that although she had been mortified at the impropriety of Harold entering her room and seeing her in her nightgown, she had never once thought to be ashamed of her beau seeing her in such a bedraggled and unattractive state, nor did he ever appear the least bit put off by her sickly appearance. In fact, he had gazed at her with such longing that Marian suspected that maintaining such a great physical distance had been a great struggle for him. So, despite the unromantic nature of his visit, the librarian still felt herself blushing as foolishly as she did after they had exchanged the most intimate of deep kisses and whispered words. _If he can still look at me like that when I look like this, it must be true love, _she ruminated.

Somehow, even among worries about what would occur the following day and the many discomforts of her body, Marian Paroo still found herself swept up in a rush of romance and hope. Scoundrel though he may have been, Harold was still her white knight in all the ways that mattered, and she was happier than she could express that he had come into her life.


	3. The Second Test

Before coming to River City, Harold Hill had never been one to worry. Oh, there were the occasional concerns, mostly centered around how he would manage to evade the law and escape town unnoticed, but it was his tendency to deal with these things as they came and put them quickly out of his mind afterwards. No good con could be pulled off without confidence– and the word was the root of the term, after all. Hesitating, fretting and stumbling were the hallmarks of a lousy swindler, being some of the very best ways of making oneself look suspicious. The kind of con men who worried were the kind who got caught, and Harold Hill certainly wasn't one of those.

But there was a price to be paid for having people and places and things that he cared about other than himself, and that fee was demanded in the currency of worry. On the morning of October 19th, 1912, Harold woke before dawn, his mind buzzing frenetically with nervous thoughts that precluded any possibility of getting back to sleep. While he was feeling fairly confident in how the band would perform today, the past few days had thrown him into turmoil, and too much was riding on this concert not to be worried. One of his chief concerns of the night before, that he himself would wake up sick, was easily dispelled once he awakened in perfect health, but it seemed that there was still so much that could go wrong. Not wanting to be bogged down by any last minute preparations, Harold departed for the Emporium in the chill of the early morning over four hours before the concert was to begin.

Standing alone in the auditorium, he couldn't help but think back to the makeshift "concert" he had led a few months ago in a high school classroom with a group of boys that couldn't read a note of music. Then, the matter of his life or death could have very well rested on that performance; it had been a test, set up for him to fail, to prove that he was nothing more than a despicable crook. Today would be a test as well, and, if all went well, a turning point in regards to his future in River City. During those bleak hours where he had thought the concert doomed, Harold had perseverated on thoughts of all the terrible things that could happen. This morning, however, he finally allowed himself to think hopefully about what this opportunity could bring him.

If the boys got up there and performed wonderfully, his status as a bandleader and a businessman would be permanently cemented. All the boys and their parents who had passed up his offer the first time would be jumping at the chance to buy instruments and become a part of the band, and membership could easily double. He could win the respect of the mayor and anyone else who still doubted his intentions, and, most importantly of all to Harold, he could become the kind of man who could propose to Marian. All he needed was to pass this one final test– a sort of entry exam into full-fledged River City-zienship – and he could at last feel that his future was secure.

The boys began arriving just before eleven, looking thrilled to be in full uniform for the first time since July. It wasn't long before all twenty-seven band members were assembled (even Linus, his broken hand bound, had shown up in solidarity), tuning freshly polished instruments and smoothing their gilded jackets and carefully-combed hair. All of them had recovered admirably from their ailments, and though there was a good deal of coughing and sneezing going on, they all appeared energetic and clear-headed. The room was noisy, yet oddly quiet at the same time – there was a great deal of activity, but very little talking. Harold surmised that much like he was, each boy was lost in his own thoughts, thinking of what he needed to do for the concert to go perfectly, fantasizing about the pride he would feel if it did. Anticipation was almost palpable in the auditorium; there was a hushed awe in the air, a heady Christmas-Eve-sort of excitement that spurred Harold's confidence and reminded him of what Marian had been telling him all along – he and the band were a team, and if he and the band both did their part, they would succeed.

After a quick run-through of their program, audience members were already starting to arrive, and it greatly relieved Harold to see that they did not glare at him in judgement as they had the last time they had sat before him like this, but appeared happy and relaxed, talking amongst themselves and occasionally trying to get the attention of their sons who were onstage. He was pleased to spy Marcellus a few rows back, sitting with Ethel Toffelmier and her sister and telling them something that was making them laugh hysterically. The only person who made his worries resurface was Mayor Shinn, who planted himself in the first row looking surly and humorless. Even Zaneeta and Gracie's bubbly chatter and Mrs. Shinn's scolding could do nothing to erase the scowl of disapproval on the older man's face. Harold simply gave the mayor a cordial smile and tried to remind himself that in short order, he would be able to prove to him that the band was every bit as legitimate as he had promised it would be.

And then he saw that Marian was there, sitting on the other end of the front row alongside her mother, and in his state of heightened emotions the sight of her was enough to take his breath away. Though her face was rather pale, she looked vastly improved since the day before, and Harold noticed that she seemed to have taken extra care with her appearance, wearing the same lacy pale purple dress that she had worn when he had taken her to the Fireman's Ball a couple of weeks ago. When their eyes met, she gave him that same sweet, encouraging smile that had sustained him on that night in July when he had been forced to conduct the band, handcuffed and disgraced. Marian believed in Harold, more than anybody else, and the thought filled his heart with gratitude. Knowing she was near was enough to dispel the last of his misgivings, and when he at last stepped out to address the crowd, he felt as self-assured as he ever had in front of an audience.

The concert went even better than Harold could have imagined. Although the performance was far from technically accurate, with the occasional squeaking instrument or wrong note marring an otherwise majestic melody, the sheer passion and spirit of the performers was undeniable. Parents who had been nearly moved to tears by their sons' shaky performances on that night back in July gaped open-mouthed in wonder what they heard today, and Harold suspected that many of them had not even envisioned the possibility of the band sounding so much improved. Even the most cynical person could not have denied the amount of practice and dedication that the band had put in over the past months.

The concert was rather brief after all of the build-up, as there had not been sufficient time for Harold to teach the boys an extensive repertoire, but on the final flourish of _Seventy-Six Trombones_, the entire crowd stood up in a rousing standing ovation.

As the applause began to die down, Harold made an attempt to speak, as he wanted to thank the boys for all of their hard work – and credit Marian for all of the help that she had provided – but to his complete shock, he found that Mayor Shinn had managed to slip onto the stage beside him and was clearly preparing for a speech of his own. Harold couldn't keep from feeling alarmed, even as he basked in his concert's tremendous success – certainly Mayor Shinn didn't mean to denounce him now, did he?

"On behalf of all River City, I would like to –"

"George!" Mrs. Shinn warned through clenched teeth. "You know that this is not the time or place –"

Ignoring his wife's admonishments entirely, the mayor simply raised his voice. " – _would like to _thank Professor Hill for orchestrating this – this orchestration, and would like –" at that, he extended his hand to Harold "– to warmally – to give him a form – to, er, officially welcome him to River City."

Confused but relieved, Harold shook the mayor's hand, unsure how to respond. The audience, too, appeared baffled; though they applauded politely, they exchanged uncomfortable glances and whispered amongst themselves.

"George, the man has lived in this town for almost three months," exclaimed Mrs. Shinn; beside her, her daughters trembled with barely-repressed laughter.

"I know that, Eulalie!" Mayor Shinn barked, indignant. "But I never welcomed him, and as the mayor, it's my decision to say who's welcome!"

"Thank you very much, Mayor Shinn," Harold broke in, hoping that there was still a chance of regaining control over the situation; Eulalie Shinn proved to be a great help as she walked primly onto the stage to drag her husband away. "I am very happy, of course, to count myself among the citizens of your lovely city, and I hope that you all enjoyed this afternoon's performance. Of course, none of it would have been possible without the dedication of these boys, who worked tirelessly to make this concert a success."

Harold motioned for the band members to take their bows, and the crowd applauded wildly once again. Grinning, he turned his gaze to Marian.

"And I can't forget to thank the person who has been, shall I say, _instrumental _in the process of developing the Think System and preparing for this event."

An expression of shock passed across Marian's features, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, River City's exceptionally talented music teacher, Marian Paroo!"

Turning pink, Marian looked half-ready to sink into her chair, but Harold motioned for her to join him onstage, and true to form, Mrs. Paroo noticed and nearly pushed her daughter toward the stairs.

Though her natural modesty caused her to blush, Harold could also perceive the delight in Marian's eyes as she took in the audience's adulation. She deserved it, Harold figured, not only on the merits of what she had done for the concert, but also simply because she had spent years so deprived of any form of approval from the community.

"Is there anything you'd like to say, Miss Paroo?"

Suddenly, Marian looked taken aback, her hazel eyes wide. "I can't," she whispered.

"Please, I want you to," Harold pleaded.

Shaking her head, Marian pressed her fingers to her throat. "I _can't_," she repeated in the same barely-audible voice.

"Oh, you're –" Blushing wasn't something that Harold was accustomed to, but he was fairly certain that he must have been doing it right now. Laughing uneasily, the music professor turned back to the audience. "Well, I'm afraid that Miss Paroo is still recovering from that pesky cold that's been going around."

Murmurs of commiseration came from the members of the crowd, many of whom had been sneezing throughout the performance.

"I'm sure all of you parents are eager to meet up with your boys, so I'll stop talking now. Thank you once again for all of your support!"

Immediately the auditorium broke into chaos, and Harold was quite certain that he would soon be overrun by admirers and new customers – but he needed to talk to Marian before anything else, or he thought he might go crazy. Using the mass of excited band members for cover, Harold took her by the hand and slipped backstage with her.

Pulling her close enough so that she wouldn't strain her voice, but not so close that it would appear improper if they were interrupted, Harold gazed searchingly into her eyes. "I'm sorry about what happened out there... I really had no idea."

"Of course you didn't," Marian responded, smiling. "Don't worry about that, Harold."

Eager to move on to more important subjects, Harold was happy not to press the issue further. "Well, what did you think?"

"What did I think?" Marian's eyes were shining with joy as she spoke. "It was wonderful, Harold. Everybody thought so... didn't you hear all the applause?"

"Well, I'm far more interested in what you have to say, Marian. It was for you, do you know that? I would never have embarrassed you by saying this, but that concert was dedicated to you."

"Oh, Harold," Marian demurred, lowering her eyes. "You don't have to say that."

"It's the truth," Harold insisted. "More than anything, I wanted you to know that I can do this... that I really can be a music professor now, no matter what I was before. I wanted you to know that you can depend on me."

The librarian nodded slowly, not seeming to understand. "You know that I've never doubted you, Harold. I've told you that many times. I told you yesterday, now that I think of it."

"It's not that..." He was becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to articulate the change that had occurred today without giving away too much. "I think that Mayor Shinn said it best, which is rather surprising. He said I was _welcome _ – I don't have to worry about anybody telling me to leave, thinking I'm still a fraud. Before today, I was still afraid – just a little bit, just sometimes – that I could lose the favor of the townspeople, and then how could I hold on to you? But now I belong here, as much as anybody else. And what's more, I wanted you to see that what you've taught me has been working. I know that I've needed your help quite often to make this concert happen, and I felt guilty that I was asking you to run yourself ragged for me... but hopefully, my business will demand less and less of your time in the future. You shouldn't have to take care of me, Marian – I want to take care of you."

As soon as he uttered that last sentence, Harold froze, wondering if he had made his intentions too obvious. But Marian didn't seem inclined to demand any more from him – she simply sighed in happiness and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest for a brief moment.

"I'm so happy, Harold," she whispered, and although they were still in public, just barely out of sight, Harold couldn't keep himself from tightening his arms around her and lightly kissing her forehead.

"Me too," he answered softly, his heart flooded with gratitude to whatever force of destiny or divinity had allowed him to be loved by this wonderful woman.

Suddenly a young boy's voice cut above the rumbling murmur of the crowd. "Where'd Professor Hill go? I want to talk to him!"

Quickly pulling back, Marian smiled up at him. "Your public demands your attention, Professor. I wouldn't want you to keep them waiting."

Allowing his dear little librarian to take his hand and lead him back out onto the stage, Harold quickly located the boy who had called his name – and many more, children and parents flooding him with orders for instruments and uniforms, people asking when the band might have its first parade, even Zaneeta Shinn, who nearly talked his ear off over her idea for a troupe of baton girls.

Yet even among all this sudden windfall, Harold still remained rather single-minded. He had been planning on making a rather expensive purchase in the near future, so it was especially nice to receive such a spike in profits just as he had decided that he intended to place the order that afternoon.

Yes, thought Harold, he was definitely ready to purchase that ring.

xxx

_Author's Note: This story ended up a good deal fluffier than I had originally intended it to be – I guess I just can't help it! Hopefully anyone who read it still found it enjoyable. :)_


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